


putting all the right looks on all the right faces

by electrahearts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Character, Episode Related, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrahearts/pseuds/electrahearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You still haven't gotten used to the whole "Scott's a werewolf" thing, but you still stay up later than you should, researching things that shouldn't be real and trying to figure out a way to keep you both alive. </p><p>-o-</p><p>Or, Scott's a werewolf, Stiles is more than kind of jealous, and Allison is around more than Stiles thinks she should be. Much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	putting all the right looks on all the right faces

**Author's Note:**

> Set during episode 2, season 1, from Stiles' perspective. Written shortly after that episode.
> 
> This is my first Teen Wolf fic, and the first one in a long time that has used a major character, so if I screw anything up too badly, please let me know! Any feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Title from Best Supporting Actor ~ One for the Team.

"It's happening," he says, his teeth sharpened into points, and you're both so screwed.

“Come on, get up,” you say, hauling him into the change room as fast as you possibly can without attracting attention, and you’re just barely in the door when you _feel_ him change, his muscles expanding under your fingertips like beings of their own.

“Get away from me,” he growls harshly, and you almost twist an ankle trying to get away from him before he tears your shirt (and you) to shreds.  


You can’t help being scared around him, sometimes, your heart beating double-time in your chest like it does when Lydia turns around in class to see who’s staring at her, or when you glance sideways in the change room to catch a glimpse of smooth, toned skin. It’s worse, though, when he’s trying to kill you, because even if Lydia likes to think her death glares make people drop dead on the spot, Scott’s teeth are an actual threat.

He growls again, and you push yourself inside a mesh locker, trying to remember that this is _Scott_ , this is your best friend, and he probably wouldn't kill you, but at least half of that is too absurd to even think. You still haven’t gotten used to the whole ‘Scott’s a werewolf’ thing - he might be your best friend, but you’re never more scared than when you look too hard in his direction and his eyes flash yellow.

(He’s the one who just tried to kill you, but you still can’t bring yourself to despise him like you do Derek.)

*

You dig up a dead body in the dark the night before his first real game, watching the ripple of Scott’s arms and the driveway of Derek’s house in turns, trying to keep the lookout that Scott doesn’t have the presence of mind for. He doesn’t even know his own legends, for fucks sake.

“You’re so unprepared for this,” you say, and resentment bubbles beneath your skin. Scott isn’t ready for this, doesn’t seem to care about this at all beyond finally being able to play on first string; _you’re_ the one doing research into the early hours of the morning until your eyes start to tear up from staring at the shiny screen of your laptop and trying to read pages of books in the dark. 

( _You_ aren’t the one with heightened senses, after all.)

*

“Just try not to worry too much while you’re out there. or get too angry,” you say as you pull the strap of your bag over your head, wanting to spill everything your dad told you in the car on the drive over (about the dead body, about Derek, about not everyone understanding people who fit outside what they think you should be), but you know that wouldn’t help anyone. 

“I got it.”

“-or stressed,” you add, and then you’re rambling until the look in Scott’s eyes makes you stop, but he looks bewildered and kind of fond instead of murderous as he walks away, so you count that as a good job on your part.

*

You see Lydia walking close by in the split seconds before she grabs Scott by the jersey and pulls him close, and for a second you think she’s going to kiss him, though you can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad one. An excellent thing, you think, watching her pat him on the chest and walk away; the two most attractive people you know kissing each other could never be a bad thing, particularly since they might let you join in.

(Well, they would in your fantasies.)

*

You sit next to the coach on the bench for ten minutes before the game starts, trying to keep an eye on Lydia while not losing track of Scott in case he tries to wave or say hello. Usually, he’d be there beside you, giving you minute-by-minute plays of Lydia’s hair flicks or recapping the movie he watched with his mom last night, but he’s first string now and you aren’t.

You see him start to break away from the stands and head to the pitch surrounded by the red and white uniforms of your team, and it hurts more than you thought it would to have him separated from you for the first time. 

“Scott! Good luck man,” you call out, hoping he can hear your voice over the screams of the white-shirted MFH supporters. You grin to yourself as he turns around, his face already partially covered by his mask.

“Thanks,” he replies, looking back in your direction, but his gaze is caught on a dark purple beanie behind your head. 

*

“Interesting,” Coach says, and Scott breaks a net with just a ball and a lacrosse stick and more power in one hand than you will ever have, even in your dreams. Sometimes, when you’re alone in your room staring at the shredded back of your chair, you think that even if you turned out to be Superman in a past life, Scott would still be better than you.

*

“I’m gonna check on Scott,” you tell the coach, but he’s not listening to you at all, too caught up in exchanging slaps on the back with the guys on the team and cheering loud enough to deafen anyone standing nearby. Your ears are still ringing as you walk towards the change room, speeding up when you hear a loud smashing noise that you hope everyone else ignores. You deserve some good luck, for a change.

The twisted maze of lockers is dark, but you can see enough to track movements beyond the wire fence near the showers, though you’re not a hundred percent sure that it isn’t another of your teammates cooling off after the heat of the game. You’d rather that to a potentially murderous werewolf of a best friend and/or his dying victim any day.

But no one’s dying. No one’s even a werewolf, which surprises you more than it should, because not everyone _expects_ to see a werewolf when they walk off the field. Or anywhere, really.

They’re kissing instead, Scott’s fingers gripping lightly to her coat as hers press against his chest, and jealousy burns so hot that you want to turn away, but the shapes of their lips has mesmerized you, holding you where you stand.

You try to hide behind the fence - which is useless, since it’s made of wire and they can probably see you better in the filtered moonlight than the shadows - but she catches your eyes as she walks past, a giddy smile on her lips.

“Hi Stiles,” she says, lifting a hand, and you’re proud of yourself for holding back your eye roll until after she can’t see you anymore.

“Hey, yeah,” you trail off pathetically, but she doesn’t seem to notice and neither does Scott.

He stumbles towards you, all happy and dazed like someone’s just handed him the world, and you wish you could pull an Allison and make an excuse to leave (or better yet, be Lydia and just leave without caring), but the game’s over and there are more important things than the slow burn of your heart as it struggles to beat properly.

“I kissed her,” he says, looking so blissfully happy that it gives you a kind of sick joy that you’ll get to ruin it a bit, once you’ve played the dutiful friend. There’s a dead girl and her brother to talk about, and the fact that the latter promised to kill Scott will probably bring him back to earth. Even if you really, really don’t want him dead.

“I saw,” you say, forcing a smile onto your lips, but it feels like a grimace. You can’t help it - you never really felt like you had a chance, or not much of one, but it was easier to pretend before Allison slid her way into your lives and seduced your best friend within the week.

“She kissed me,” he responds, like that makes it even better. The thing is, for people like the two of you, it does.

“I saw that too.” There’s marginal enthusiasm in your voice, and you’re just glad that he’s so out of it that he’s probably not paying any attention whatsoever - which is a strange thing to be glad for, because usually you bask in his attention, hoarding it away in your mind for when you’re alone.

“It’s pretty good, huh,” he says, and all you can think is that he cares more about the girl than he does about being a fucking werewolf or lacrosse or Derek trying to kill him.

(He cares more about the girl than he does about you.)


End file.
